Knocking on Death's Door
by AliceInScribbleLand
Summary: Sometimes death hits a little too close to home. Sometimes Maura gets a little too close to death. Horrible summary I know...


Death does strange things to Maura. She understands it better than most. Hell, it's been her constant companion for more years than I care to think about. It doesn't scare her the same way it does other people. However, sometimes, sometimes, I feel like it's taking her away from me.

You can tell when she starts to slip away. Her eyes lose their light. Her laughter disappears from the station halls. She nearly stops talking altogether. She forgets what day it is. She forgets to eat. She stops being alive.

Those are the times I worry, when I wonder if she will come back to us. Maura can speak to the dead, but sometimes, I wonder if the dead speak to her. If, maybe, they promise her the peace we cannot offer her.

I can see the light from her living room is still on. I haven't made it over here in over a week and I know that's part of the problem. Work has been hectic for both of us: three cases in less than two weeks. I have seen more paperwork lately than I have Maura.

I know that I need to be more careful. Granted Maura has found her place in our mixed up circle of friends, but Frost, Korsak, and even my brother aren't the social outlet she needs. Without me coming around, I know that outside of work she doesn't talk to anyone else.

Heading towards the door I begin to fish for her key. I know she won't hear the door, hell; it's probably already unlocked, but just in case. I doubt she is doing anything other than sitting there thinking.

Sometimes, I don't envy her intelligence. Left alone long enough she becomes trapped in her own thoughts, in her own mind. Those are the times that she gets afraid; looking to me with panicked eyes and so much sorrow that she could drown the greater Boston area.

I let myself in, wishing her mind were as easy to get into as her home. My suspicions are proven correct, when I find her sitting on the couch wrapped up in a blanket trembling; no longer caring if her famous clothes are wrinkled. She's not caring about anything right now.

I can tell she doesn't realize I'm here. I keep my movements slow and calm, wanting to catch her attention without startling her. The first few times I found her this way, it was nearly a disaster. Startling Maura on a good day is a bad idea, like this, its worse.

Moving into her line of sight, I sit down on the couch next to her. "Maura," I say, already annoyed at how out of it she is. I know she cannot seem to help it, but I could be anyone. I could be in here slitting her throat, and she would just sit there, totally clueless. "Maura?" I ask again, placing a comforting hand on her back.

She jumps at my touch. "Oh, Jane," she gasps, taking a moment to collect herself. Her eyes trail to the door and she scrunches up her eyebrows in confusion, "I didn't hear you come in." Her eyes stay focused, as if she can recall the memories that just aren't there by thinking hard enough.

"Maura, you have to remember to lock that," I remind her, yet again. I cannot count the number of times we have had this conversation. She knows it angers me, but I know that the anger isn't what she needs. If I start yelling now, she will just jump back into her mind and stay there even longer. Maura shutting down on me is the worst. I cannot be there if she doesn't let me in.

"I," she thinks back to this afternoon when she came home, her bottom lip sliding between her teeth, "I had my hands full. I must have forgotten." Her eyes lift to mine in way of an apology and I melt.

"Just try to remember next time," I urge, scooting closer to her. I know that she doesn't choose to be like this, but it still makes me angry. How hard can it really be to remember to function? Some days, I want to strangle her, but then, she looks at me with those weepy helpless eyes, and I know I would do anything to make things better for her.

She moves closer to me the minute I am still. Somehow, she thinks I can save her from this. Save her from sinking into herself and slipping away. I want to, but I don't know how to help. Maura is my best friend, but in times like these, I feel as if I don't know her at all.

"Have you eaten anything?" I ask, already knowing the answers. It's the same thing every time. I don't even know why I bother with the formalities. Before she can respond, I'm grabbing her by the elbow and helping her to her feet. "Come on let's get some food into you."

She follows my lead, but a frustrated pout graces her features. "I'm not hungry Jane." She sighs heavily, as I explain that I already know this and continue to push her along. "Jane, why do you even bother? You hate to cook. You know I'm going to eat like three bites and you're going to give in and give up on trying to force me."

"You gotta eat Maur-," I explain matter-of-factly. Leaving Maura at the bar, I slip around the other side and begin to piece together a reasonably healthy dinner. Past conversations with Maura flash through my mind, as I grab everything green I can find. I may not eat the best myself, but knowing I cannot be there for every meal I try to cram in as much nutrition as possible. This one meal will probably replace four she has skipped.

The fact that Maura's trivia has begun to coincide with my own thoughts doesn't go unnoticed. It's just one of the many fingerprints of her that I have noticed seeping into my life. Maura has definitely left her mark. "How was your day?" I ask, trying to bring her back to the moment.

"Same as every other day," she says, as though conversation alone was exhausting. For her, maybe it is. "Jane you don't have to do all this," she says, however, we both know if I don't she won't either.

"Maura," I say, stopping what I am doing. I try not to let the frustration seep into my words, but it's hard not to. I want to strangle her for the way things are. Instead, I take a deep breath, "Go get in the shower Maura, dinner will be done by then."


End file.
